


icarus undone

by vype



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vype/pseuds/vype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is wearing a bloodstained orange hoodie when she checks them into the motel, and he is so utterly perplexed by how familiar it looks that he doesn't raise a protest when she raids his wallet for cash. In fact, he's so enraptured in this sense of déjà vu- and exhaustion; Washington to NYC is a really fucking long flight especially on rocket board- that she manages to bodily drag him to their room and tuck away his shades on the bedside drawer before he can do anything else.</p><p>From there, things begin as they always do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	icarus undone

**Author's Note:**

> hnnhhh *hides face in hands for the rest of my life*  
> and here we have my first nsfw fic ever  
> ...enjoy?

Rose is wearing a bloodstained orange hoodie when she checks them into the motel, and he is so utterly perplexed by how familiar it looks that he doesn't raise a protest when she raids his wallet for cash. In fact, he's so enraptured in this sense of déjà vu- and exhaustion; Washington to NYC is a really fucking long flight especially on rocket board- that she manages to bodily drag him to their room and tuck away his shades on the bedside drawer before he can do anything else.

From there, things begin as they always do.

Rose is the first to shrug off her clothes- the hoodie is dumped on the bedside table beside the sole bed of the room, and her camisole and the gaudy shades she used to conceal her eyes quickly follow. It's around this time that Dave finally comes back to his senses and swallows as he unbuttons his jacket and shirt, but his hands fumble over the knot of his tie and he has to stop. Take a deep breath for a moment. Release it. 

Normally, Rose would be snarking away and he'd be firing back witty comments just as glibly, because they are two people who just don't know when to shut up, but she's dead silent tonight. 

Rose is scared of something. And that makes him more terrified than anything else that has ever happened in (t)his life, not even the one time he had to personally stare down the Batterwitch, alone at the top floor of Crockercorp HQ.

She steps closer to him, heels clicking on the wooden floor. Rose helps him with his tie and jacket, and he sheds the shirt. Her forehead drops to the junction of his shoulder and neck, and she inhales deeply. Dave feels the rush of air, swallows once.

She steps back and walks, and he just stands there like a fucking idiot with a growing sense of dread that has both nothing and everything to do with the slow realization that the omnipresent clock in his mind has begun winding down– that he knows what Rose is so frightened of, and why she is with him tonight. He stands there until Rose takes everything away by placing a cold palm against his bare shoulder blades slowly pushing him down until he is kneeling. A gentle nudge and his head is bowed down so that he is staring into his lap, at the way his hands twist the fabric of his slacks.

And _still not saying a fucking word_ she moves around until she stands in front of him. Her pale legs are just in his field of vision, as are the deadly deep purple stilettos she always wears to book signings. He can catch traces of blood on the heels.

Dave knows that she's staring at him. He can feel her eyes burning through his skull, but he just focuses on staying as still as humanly possible despite the slow growing anticipation in his core, because if Rose maneuvers you into a position you better fucking stay in that position. Turns out, he does such a good job at this that he completely misses her bringing out the straps. 

He's missing a lot of things today, it seems.

She's shed her dress by the time lets him up and he takes just a short second to let the blood go back to his legs, and then she's guiding him towards the bed. Oh fuck. He knows where this is going. His heartbeat flutters, the metronome in his chest settles into a faster pace. Not in arousal, not yet. Expectation, perhaps.

She reaches over the edge of the bed and plucks his tie off the floor. She brings his hands up, over his head and ties his wrist to the bars at the head of the bed, the silk settling against his pulse almost, but not quite, like shackles. She has two other straps, and one goes just under beneath knees to keep his legs together. The other settles across his hipbones and pulls down tight. Just barely enough room to wriggle side to side, but a quick flex tells him there isn't any give to thrust upwards.

He could break out of them, probably. The tie, definitely. Maybe even the straps if he puts his mind to it. But that's not the point. So far beyond the point of this all that it has officially warped back around the edges of paradox space to- _oh holy fuck that feels good._

Rose has one hand pressing on his erection through his pants, rubbing just enough to take away all his thoughts.

His first instinct is to push his hips up, curl his back and present himself further. But obviously that's not possible now, so he just lets out a ragged exhale as Rose unzips his pants and guides his dick out of the flap of his boxers.

And then. Oh, and then, this is when the torture begins.

Her fingers are thin, tracing loops around his pelvis where cloth meets skin, skittering up and down his sides, circling his nipples with just the slightest bite of nail. He groans and gasps, pushes his chest upwards in an attempt to- what exactly, he doesn't know. Make Rose press harder, more contact? Push her away? Fuck he doesn't know, but whatever he was hoping to accomplish, it doesn't happen, and she just smiles as she continues gliding the palms of her hands down his stomach, and then just the tips of her fingers brushing against his dick. Up and down. Circles around the base. The pad of her thumb over the slit and oh god that makes his entire body tense and try to rock forwards, but no, it's useless and futile and she just laughs and does it again. 

Fucking. Fuck. 

This goes on for. For.

God, even he's losing track of the time. An hour? Longer? He doesn't even know, all he knows is Rose's hands on his body, the lingering phantom touch they trail over his skin, her short quiet chuckle and his heavy breaths, the beginnings of words at the tip of his tongue before they get drowned out by an overwhelming need and not enough pleasure. 

How long he lasts depends. On his mood. Her mood, a.k.a. whether she's decided to indulge her sadistic tendencies tonight or not. Whether he's just finished a new movie and is flushed with success or is skirting close to a deadline. How many all-nighters she's pulled in the past couple of weeks. How much he's been drinking. How much _she's_ been drinking.

Whether they're going to fucking die the next day or not.

He cracks.

"Please."

It's a whisper, not even as loud as the moan that slips out a second after. It's a single breath, lost in the shudder that runs through his body when she presses the edges of her fingernails just that little bit deeper into his skin.

And, as always, Rose's response:

"No."

He swallows. Rose traces his Adam's apple with a fingernail, a slow lazy circle clockwise and then counterclockwise that makes him gasp and moan again. He would beg for it but that would do nothing, except maybe make her smile. "Desperate is a good look on you, Dave," she had said once with her peculiar smile.

The hand she places on his hip is redundant, given the straps that hold his body down, but her hands are always cold and it shocks him out of his memories enough for him to catch that same smile on her lips.

She continues. 

He clings to the last dregs of his composure. 

She blows across the head of his dick and he wants to scream but the sound strangles itself in his throat and all that comes out is a rasping groan.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

"Fuck Rose, I've been ready for fucking hours, fuck fuck _fuck-_ "

She cuts him off by pressing a small kiss to the left of his lips. Chaste, even. He gasps into her mouth, tries to raise his head to follow it with something deeper, but she pushes his head back down.

"I don't think you are," she whispers, and he sobs again as she pushes his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh, trailing her fingers across skin but without any pressure. Just ghosts the tips of her nails like a figure skater's routine. 

Graceful. Ephemeral.

Not. Fucking. Enough.

Some of that must come through in his panting because Rose stops moving, and it is both torturous and heavenly. He's hanging in limbo, so close to careening over the edge that it feels like the whole world is holding its breath. He's dizzy with want and desperation, unable to focus on anything but the gap between Rose's hands and his skin, thin as rice paper. 

"We were gods once, you know," she muses, the non-sequitur hanging heavily in the room before she pulls herself up and sits beside Dave's torso. And abruptly, she caresses his jaw, fingers trailing under his chin, tilting his head back and forcing his eyes on hers. "I want you to beg me for it."

He doesn't have any pride left to swallow. Never had any, when Rose is concerned.

Every word takes herculean effort to ensure it doesn't get lost in his groans and sobs- he calls her name, he begs, he does nothing but let out a steady stream of 'fuck fuck fuck' until he can't understand the words that pour out of his mouth anymore, he just needs release. Right. Now. He can feel tears slipping down his face, and her fingers wiping them away.

"Dave."

He gasps an approximation of her name. 

"Now."

And her fingers curl around his dick and _squeeze_ , finally something solid and then Dave can only feel pure relief as she strokes him, his breath catching in his throat and releasing in tiny desperate gasps. Electric fingers trace over his body and he wants to move his hips so badly that it almost hurts, but all he can do is lie still and remember how to breathe as she strokes him hard and fast until

until

As he returns to his senses he can feel her fingers curl gently in his hair, and she kisses every part of his face, gently over his eyelids and the bridge of his nose, his forehead and cheeks and finally on his lips again, and she sighs into his mouth. Vaguely he's aware that she's untied him, and he brings his still somewhat unresponsive arms around her to hug her tight.

"I love you, Dave." She breathes the words into his face, presses her forehead against his. "If I never get another chance to say this again, I love you so, so much."

He opens his eyes and looks because Rose has never been one for sentimentality, really _looks_ at her through watery eyes even though he's not the one with magic doomsday vision and hopes that she sees him, sees what he means. The deep purple of her eyes are startlingly overbright, and he thinks that she might be crying too.

"You don't deserve this," Rose says, and hot tears drip onto his cheek. "I'm so sorry Dave, you shouldn't end like this. You deserve so much better."

"You too, you too," he wants to say, but how could he ever put into words Rose Lalonde in all her incredible glory, the beautiful soul hidden beneath brittle layers of self-loathing and alcoholism and an inexplicable aura of light and deep sea, who could have been happy a lifetime ago but chose to lead a rebellion, who will never know the daughter she already loves with all her heart, strong and brave and imperfect but there is nothing wrong about that. How does he tell her, "You have no idea how much you deserve,", when he can't even bring himself to tell her, "I love you too."

Broken things, all of them.

But he is out of words, and so is she, and they lie there together as he runs fingers through her hair, counting each others' breaths and heartbeats, and Dave wonders how long they have left.

_We were gods once, you know._

Green fire in his minds eye, he silently says into the void between them, "I know, I know."

They have always been out of time.


End file.
